


Dust and Ashes

by d-ama-ien (ama_janee)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It's not very graphic but it's there, Other, Redemption, Song Lyrics, Song fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:28:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21563758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ama_janee/pseuds/d-ama-ien
Summary: Based on and using lyrics from Dust and Ashes from Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812. That song always feels very Actor to me, but ends with Pierre wanting to grow and be better so it didn't really work with Actor. But, what if Actor chooses to seek redemption?
Relationships: Celine | The Seer/Mark Fischbach, mentioned
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	Dust and Ashes

_Is this how I die?_

Mark couldn’t help but think that this very well may be the death of him. He had never felt such intense pain as if he was choking on his emotions. In reality, he was choking on his desperate sobs, the realization of all that had happened punching him in the chest. 

_Ridiculed and laughed at  
Wearing clown shoes_

He had made a name for himself in this era through his comedy. He knew it was frequent that his fans were laughing at him, so he had learned to laugh with them. Laugh when he said something stupid, make it worse with the next sentence, make things as inappropriate and shameful as he could. Over-react to every little scare, get used to having people mock his screams and his personality, and _everything_. He had grown accustomed. It was for the sake of his narrative, after all.

_Is this how I die?_  
Furious and reckless  
Sick with booze 

Sure, “Mark Fischbach” didn’t, couldn’t, drink. But he could, he did, endlessly. Alcohol had, arguably, gotten him into all this shit, put a strain on his relationship with Celine, driven her away. As if she had ever been his to start with. He wasn’t stupid- conceited, not stupid. And, with a century to think about his actions, there was a chance he didn’t treat Celine as well as he had thought.

_How did I live?  
I taste every wasted minute_

It burns on Mark’s tongue, the taste of regret and hatred. All the time he’s wasted on making them suffer, and for _what_? He had long since gotten revenge, he was drowning in success, on TV, surrounded by friends and adoring fans. Had a YouTube channel to document all his progress for Dark to see, for Mark to rub it in his face. Because, after all he had done, people still chose him, adored him, _believed him_ when he said that Dark was the villain. He had his fans in the palm of his hand to do with as he pleased, but it wasn’t enough. It had never been enough for him.

_Every time I turned away  
From the things that might have healed me_

He had made friends. He had opportunity after opportunity handed to him, dozens of chances for him to crawl out of the hole he had sunk himself into. He never took those chances.

_How long have I been sleeping?_

_How did I live?_

He had been the villain. He was manipulative and cunning and rude and downright _evil_. He had forced a friend to kill him, stolen another friend’s body, broke their minds and wills and sanity until they gave him what he wanted until they finally fit into his narrative. What kind of hero was he?

_Was I kind enough and good enough?_

Maybe he had been, at some point. Maybe he was, sometimes. He gave things away, helped people, but it wasn’t out of selflessness. Every “selfless” act, performed so he could gain something. Not selfless, not _good_ at all.

_Did I love enough?_

Had he loved at all may be a better question. Had he loved enough? Had Mark loved William, the man that was practically his brother, the only family he ever felt close to? Or Damien, his best friend, who was so kind and caring and passionate about creating change? Or Celine, who he thought had stolen his heart before she ran off and crushed it into a thousand pieces in her haste? Had he ever loved her in the first place?

_Did I ever look up_  
And see the moon  
And the stars  
And the sky? 

He had never appreciated what he had around him until it was all gone, leaving him in the dust.

_Oh why have I been sleeping?_

_They say we are asleep  
Until we fall in love_

And Mark is sure that he had never woken up.

_We are children of dust and ashes_  
But when we fall in love we wake up  
And we are a God  
And angels weep 

He had thought, once, that he was awake with Celine. She had lit a fire in him that he had never felt before. She was stubborn enough to meet him head-on, he admired that above anything else. He had thought they were everything, the world bowed to them and the force of their love.

_But if I die here tonight  
I die in my sleep_

_So easy to close off  
Place the blame outside_

Mark was a master at that. It was William’s fault that Celine had left- he had _taken_ her, he had stolen her like the no-good low life he was because certainly, Celine would never leave by choice. Mark had never yelled at her that much, had never threatened her when she tried to stop him from drinking, he had never done anything to drive her away. He had given her everything.

_Hiding in my room at night  
So terrified_

The voices, they never stopped. Mark couldn’t make them shut up, no matter how much he drank or screamed, or how he stabbed himself over and over and over and over and _over again_ , begging for it to stop, begging the voices to let him die.

_Life and love  
I don’t deserve._

How he was even alive was beyond Mark. Hell, if he understood any of the magic that had let him live this long, had allowed any of them to live this long. And, reflecting a little deeply on things, Mark was realizing he was surrounded by love, positively drowning in it, and he had never even tried to reciprocate, show genuine love in exchange.

_So all right, all right_  
I’ve had my time  
Close my eyes  
Let the death bells chime 

He’s done with it now. What more is there to live for? Useless revenge, attention, what? He might as well write the ending of his story, why risk anyone changing his narrative? 

_Nothing’s left  
I looked everywhere_

He’s been creating his own purpose for a century. To be a hero, to bend those around him into his narrative. If he wasn’t the hero, if he didn’t have that purpose, then what was there? 

_Is this how I die?  
Was there ever any other way my life could be?_

Could he have been a better husband, a better friend and brother? Could he have given more of himself to others, could he have learned to forgive and move on? Was he destined to be this selfish mess of a person, or was it something he had done to himself, something he had chosen?

_Is this how I die?  
Such a storm of feelings inside of me?_

Anger, sadness, an eternity of pain, welling up inside him. Choking on his own sobs, a disgraceful mess. How else could his story end? It’s what he deserved, what he wanted at this point. All stories must come to an end, so he might as well close the book himself and be done with it. Quit while he was still ahead, while he was even recognized as the hero.

_But then why am I screaming?  
Why am I shaking?_

Why did he want to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness? He wanted a second chance- the realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. He wanted a second chance to prove he could be better, that he wasn’t destined to destroy himself and others. 

_They say we are asleep  
Until we fall in love_

Mark hadn’t woken up before, but maybe he had another chance, perhaps he could be better and open up and let others in.

_And I’m so ready  
To wake up now_

He could do it, he had lived this long, but surely he didn’t have infinite time here. He had to make a change had to do _something_ or he might as well just off himself now.

_I want to wake up_

There had to be something, anything to light that fire in his chest. He’d find it. He would make amends, he would apologize, he would find his peace. And, maybe, he would find love.

_I’m ready_

_To wake up._

**Author's Note:**

> Idk if this is my best work but the idea has been bugging me for weeks so it had to be written. Currently (as of posting this) accepting requests/prompts on my tumblr @d-ama-ien.


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